AllFreeNovel
Share Us
The man at the front of the charge barrels up the stairs, and Zaina throws a star. It lodges neatly in his throat and he falls back on the men behind him.
No longer The Flame,I finish my thought.
“We need to go.” Her voice is urgent.
I wonder if she’s already worked out what I have finally pieced together.
Damian. Damian is Madame’s Flame now.
Zaina is wrapping her veil more tightly around her face, covering her mouth and motioning for me to do the same with my cloak when a familiar dark voice sounds at the bottom of the stairs.
He’s still out of view, but we don’t have long before he rounds the corner and spies us.
My sister’s fingers are moving rapidly, digging into her satchel and pulling out the bottle of Nightshade Gas. I follow suit and grab the accelerant and matches. We’re running back to the roof when Zaina tosses her bottle over her shoulder.
“Hold your breath,” she orders, her hand flying up to cover her mouth as I suck in a lungful of air.
The glass shatters, and soon the sound of men groaning and falling fill the hall behind us.
We don’t stop, don’t look back as I dip my match into the vial to light it up. I turn long enough to hurl the accelerant behind me, counting down the seconds for it to break before tossing the match as well.
We’re barely back outside, slamming the door behind us when an explosion rocks the building, throwing us to the edge of the roof. It’s probably too much to hope for that Damian got caught in the blaze on the outskirts as he was, but one can dream.
Either way, we can’t stick around to find out.
My ears are ringing, and my lungs burn, but I’m pulling Zaina behind me as we scale back down the wall and run as fast as we can into the shadows.
We’re gone before the first plume of smoke rises to the sky.
CHAPTERFORTY-FIVE
REMY
I’m beginning to wonder if Einar and Zaina sleep at all.
No matter what time we come to their suites, they are bent over books or furiously jotting down notes on parchment. Then again, it’s not like Aika and I rest much, either.
Between spending our nights working against Madame and our days playing the perfect royal couple, there are few hours for anything else. That’s why we’re trudging into the guest suites at four o’clock in the morning with dark purple circles under both of our eyes.
Einar and Zaina don’t look much better. He’s rubbing her back as she presses her fingers to her temples in frustration, parchments strewn across the table before her. There is a smudge of ink on her cheek and an uncommon air of dishevelment about her.
“It doesn’t matter if she has weaknesses if we can’t figure out what they are,” she says, continuing a conversation from before we entered the room.
The topic of Madame’s weaknesses isn’t new. It’s something we’ve been talking to death all week, but there is one aspect I’m not sure any of us have considered. I’m hesitant to bring it up, unsure how it will be received, but we’re running out of time and ideas.
“Well, I think we can be sure of at least one of them,” I offer, taking my seat on the settee facing theirs.
Aika curls up next to me, tucking her knees beneath her and leaning into the crook of my arm. Pumpkin squeaks when she nearly crushes him in her distraction.
“Her penchant for gothic architecture?” Aika suggests sarcastically.
“You two,” I say flatly, gesturing to her and Zaina. “And, presumably, Damian and Mel.”
Einar and Zaina stare at me as if I’ve sprouted another head.
“What part of her torturing us with regularity makes you think she has a soft spot for us?” the latter asks in her favorite acerbic tone.
But Aika looks thoughtful. And guilty.
